One Day in King's Row
by Z.R. Stein
Summary: A chance meeting in King's Row changes the future forever. Lena Oxton takes in an abused Harry Potter, determined to give him the love and support that his relatives denied him. What do you get when a budding wizard is raised by a former Overwatch agent? In a word; chaos. Watch out Hogwarts, Harry Oxton is coming at ya. Pre Second Omnis Crisis, pre Hogwarts. Greater Good Dumbledore
1. Chapter 1: King's Row

**Z.R. Stein**

 **One Day in King's Row — an Overwatch/Harry Potter crossover AU fic.**

 **I do not own the characters to either series in any way.**

 **So, I just happened to notice the criminally low number of Overwatch crossovers. Have you guys even** _ **seen**_ **the cinematic trailers? Story gold, those are. Why are there not like, several hundred more crossovers?**

 **Anyways, this is going to be the good old trope, "Harry is saved and raised by person x" which has been done a thousand times before (hey, if it ain't broke. Some of my favorite fics of all time use that trope.)**

 **This is an alternative!Parent fic, with "Greater Good" Dumbledore (and an extra dash of manipulation), and with some major changes to HP canon and both series' timelines.**

 **The modern HP timeline in particular has been moved forward by nearly a century. So, wizarding culture is going to be a little bit different, as more muggle inventions have seeped into their lives. Now, they won't be using anything** _ **modern**_ **, by any means; I just wanted to show what almost a hundred years' difference would have on a culture, even one as steeped in the past as the Wizarding World. They'll still be using brooms and reading physical books, but quills will be replaced by magical fountain pens, horse (or thestral) drawn carriages will become magic-fuelled automobiles from the early to mid 1900s, black and white wizarding movies will exist, and fashion will be different. Somewhat.**

 **Considering that Muggles have flying trucks and live in cities made of hard light (seriously, the Indians in the Overwatchverse live in a city made of hard light, look it up on the wikia), I don't consider the wizarding world to be** _ **that**_ **caught up. I also didn't want to just give you guys the same old same old HP world, and 80 years is a long time.**

 **Officially, the HP timeline has been moved forwards by, yes, 80 years, while the Overwatch Timeline has been altered slightly to actually** _ **work**_ **with what I have planned. I know that this timeline will be very confusing, especially when you add on Overwatch, so here is a helpful little guide:**

 _2040: James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, and Snape are born._

 _2045: The First Omnic Crisis begins._

 _2046: Overwatch is formed to combat the Omnic threat. The original team consists of Gabriel Reyes, Jack Morrison, Torbjörn Lindholm, Reinhardt Wilhelm, Ana Amari, and Liao._

 _2047: Lena Oxton, aka Tracer is born._

 _2050: Voldemort returns from Albania to begin his First Wizarding War._

 _2051: The First Omnic Crisis ends after 6 years of fighting. Overwatch becomes a global peacekeeping organization, advancing science worldwide._

 _2051-2058: Hogwarts years for Lily, the Marauders, and Snape._

 _2060: Harry Potter is born (along with Hermione, Draco Malfoy, etc.)_

 _2061: End of the Wizarding War, Voldemort's 'Death', Death of James and Lily Potter, etc._

 _2062: During a test flight of the teleporting fighter Slipstream, Tracer vanishes, then reappears months later, her molecules desynchronized from the flow of time._

 _2063: With the help and expertise of Winston, Tracer rejoins the timestream and joins Overwatch at the age of 16, fighting crime around the world._

 _2069: The PETRAS act is passed, officially disbanding Overwatch. Overwatch agents go their separate ways. Lena Oxton chooses to take up residence in London._

 _2070: Harry Potter is 9 years old, and has a meeting in King's Row that will change his life forever…_

 **Right, I know I didn't include everything about Overwatch, but it would have made the list insanely long if I did everyone's birth date and time they joined Overwatch and all that shit. Suffice to say that more will be expanded upon in the fic itself. Oh, and before we finally move on; yes, Tracer is going to be the one who primarily raises Harry for the two years before he goes off to Hogwarts and during his Hogwarts years. I am also bringing in Winston, and possibly one or two other Overwatch characters to be part of his small family. If you guys have any suggestions, please leave me a PM or review telling me who. Or maybe I'll hold a poll. Actually, a poll sounds good.**

 **And this ends the horribly long author's note. Cheers, loves.**

* * *

Harry Potter was cold.

This wasn't exactly unusual for him. His cupboard would often become uncomfortably chilly in the winters, and he'd spent many long nights shivering under the few ratty blankets his Aunt grudgingly gave him over the years. He had long since grown accustomed to that chill.

The cold he was feeling presently, however, was much worse than what he was typically used to. Mostly given to the fact that he was outside, his body shivering as he stood behind a dumpster, his hands rubbing together fervently as he tried to fend off the biting wintry wind. Uncle Vernon had announced that morning that he was to meet with a possible client at a fancy restaurant in King's Row. The Dursleys had had every intention of leaving him in his cupboard for the day, but for some odd reason, the door had sealed shut with Harry outside and could not be opened (Uncle Vernon had raged for nearly an hour, screaming at Harry as he used the belt to punish him for 'being a freak'. Harry was in part oddly thankful for the cold, it numbed his bruises). Missus Figg had fallen ill as well, and no one else on their street was willing to look after the 'criminally insane' boy of the Dursleys. So, with no other options, the Dursleys had carted him along, though Vernon had made it expressly clear that Harry was not to enter the restaurant. He'd told Harry an hour ago to wait outside and not cause any trouble, and that is what Harry had done; he'd squatted down, trying to conserve warmth as he rocked back in forth in the alleyway.

A noise caught his attention, jerking him out of his reverie. Harry looked to the side, eyes widening as a pile of trash further down the alleyway shifted. A small metal hand emerged from the garbage, and Harry swallowed a panicked scream. The only thing that his Aunt and Uncle hated more than his own 'freakish nature' were the Omnics. Vernon would spend entire _days_ ranting about the 'subhuman monstrosities' that had gained sentience more than twenty years ago, and Harry had grown rather terrified of them. The telly often ran stories on Omnic murders around the world, lambasting the machines constantly. According to Uncle Vernon, Omnics _hated_ humans, and wanted nothing more than to tear them down until they were in control. The only reason they hadn't was due to 'those Overwatch freaks', Vernon often said.

Harry watched as the hand was followed by a slim metal arm and then a smooth, metal head. It had four glowing dots on its forehead, and its 'eyes' were small and beady. Harry held his breath, waiting for the robot to obliterate him, as he was sure it would. The Omnic turned to look at him...and then began moving towards him slowly.

Harry's heart jackrabbited until it beat faster than it ever had before. He was going to die, he just knew it!

"Get away from me!" Harry yelled as he thrust out his hands in panic. A blast of force sprang from his fingertips, sending the Omnic flying into a clattering heap. Harry sagged with sudden exhaustion, the cold pressing in even more. After a moment, he recovered enough to realize what he'd done, and his panic grew even more. Oh no! Uncle Vernon had told him not to cause trouble, and he'd messed up, using his freakish powers and even coming into contact with an Omnic! Harry took one last look at the Omnic, who was struggling to stand back up, and bolted. He didn't know where he was going; he just wanted to get away. Away from the scary Omnic who probably wanted to hurt him, away from Uncle Vernon who _would_ hurt him for sure, just...away. He ran as fast as his tiny, bruised, and cramping legs would carry him.

He didn't want to hurt anymore. He'd been in pain for as long as he could remember.

Ever since he was a small child, he'd been hated, spat upon, and degraded. He was used to it, but that didn't mean he was numb to it; he knew that he had once had a mother who loved him. He could still remember red hair and the smell of flowers, a smile and green eyes, so green that they seemed to _glow_.

Harry choked back a sob as he forced himself to move faster still. He wished that he could run faster, so fast that he could run back to his mother, away from the Dursleys.

He crossed the street at a full out sprint, ignoring the yells of the pedestrians and hover car drivers, his worn sneakers nearly falling off in his flight.

Harry began to feel light headed from his exertion, but years of running away from Dudley and his gang during games of 'Harry Hunting' let him continue, pushing past what a normal nine year old could do. He barrelled around a corner, skidding on a patch on ice, and slammed into something hard and unwieldy.

Harry let out a small cry of pain as he slid to the ground, his glasses flying off of his face. The bruises on his body reminded him of their existence, his run having relieved the pleasant numbness that he'd built up over the past hour. Harry groaned, blinking in pain and confusion.

"You alright there, luv?"

Harry froze. He'd crashed into a person. This was bad, this was really bad! He needed to apologise, and hope they didn't hurt him for his mistake.

"I...I'm sorry, I didn't see you there..."

Harry heard a pleasant laugh, one that was full of warmth and a certain other indefinable quality. If he had been pressed to describe it, Harry would have called it moxie.

"No worries there. Nasty patch of ice, that. Are you sure you ain't hurt, luv?"

Harry shook his head as he looked up at the speaker, squinting. He could make out a blurry, tannish brownish blob; going off of the voice, he was talking to a young woman, but beyond that, he didn't know much.

A hand intruded into his vision, coming into focus. Glove clad fingers held onto a pair of glasses.

"These came off your face when you fell."

Harry murmured his thanks, placing the glasses on his face. THe world swam into view, along with the woman that he had rammed into. She was quite young and pretty looking, in Harry's opinion. She stood a good foot taller than him, and wore a brown aviator's jacket with a strange blue device glowing in the center of her chest. On her legs she wore a pair of faded blue jeans, which were tucked into a pair of oddly streamlined boots. Her hair was brown, and somewhat spiky, and was swept up in one wave towards her left ear. She had a spray of freckles on her nose, light hazel eyes, and a button nose that was scrunched up cutely.

Harry blinked, then blinked again, mind caught in an endless loop. He, admittedly, didn't know much about the world; Vernon and Petunia had gone out of their way to keep him ignorant of most things beyond his cupboard in Little Whinging, but he still occasionally learned things off the telly or from school. The woman in front of him was one that was instantly recognizable, despite her change of wardrobe.

Harry Potter gaped as he realized that he had run into _the_ Lena Oxton, aka Tracer, one of the most well known and admired heroes of the now defunct Overwatch. She was the public face of Britain's heroes, and was instantly recognizable to anyone who hadn't lived under a rock for the past ten years.

Harry felt his panic rising to nuclear levels as he curled into a ball. He was done. Finished. His life was over. When Uncle Vernon found out about this...

"Well now I know there's somethin' going on with you, luv. What's the matter then, ey?"

Harry shook his head, not wanting to answer.

"Come on now, I don't bite. I want to help you. Tell me, please?"

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and he removed his head from its confinement. His own green eyes locked onto a pair of concerned hazel pupils, startling in their empathy. He swallowed.

"What's your name?"

"...H...Harry."

Lena grinned, and Harry felt his own lips twitching as well. Somehow, he couldn't help but do so; it was like the woman before him chased away unhappiness simply by existing, her grin was that infectious.

"Just Harry?"

"Uh...n-no. Harry Potter."

Lena patted him on the shoulder.

"Harry Potter, eh? That's a nice name. I'm Lena Oxton."

"Yeah...you're Tracer."

Lena laughed good naturedly as she sat down on the ground beside him, the two of them ignoring the annoyed looks that other pedestrians shot them.

"Suppose I am. Recognize me from the telly, did ya?"

Harry nodded, his gaze sliding off of Tracer to focus on the ground.

"...I'm sorry for...running into you, Miss Tracer."

"Oh, pish, don't get all worked up about that, luv. I'm tougher than I look, and call me Lena, if ya want. I'm only Tracer when I'm in uniform. Now...what's got you all wound up?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He didn't know where to start; he was still afraid of being told off, hit, or otherwise abused. It was what Vernon would have done to him if he had messed up in front of his Uncle.

Lena's eyes encouraged him to talk, a small, gentle smile on her face; so Harry began, starting and stopping but managing to speak.

"I...I was running away from an Omnic...see I was...my Uncle had told me to wait outside the restaurant and not cause trouble. So...I-I tried to be a good boy and not be freak, but then there was the Omnic and...m-my Uncle, he doesn't like Omnics, and a-ater everything I've seen on the telly I was so scared and I did something that made the Omnic fly away...a-and then I was just trying to run away and I-I just kind of...panicked. A-and that's...that's about it, I guess."

Harry looked up, and was relieved to see no snarl or hard expression on Lena's face, no sign of an impending explosion like Vernon would have had on his face; that same small smile was still present, but it had changed slightly. Some of the energy and light had gone, as if stolen away by Harry's words.

"Your Uncle...what's his name, luv?"

"V-Vernon. Vernon Dursley. A-and my Aunt's name is Petunia."

Lena nodded, and held out a hand to Harry.

"Well, I think they can keep for a little while longer. Wouldn't want to spoil their dinner, now would we? Why don't you come with me, I'll get ya warmed up, luv."

Harry shook his head.

"I can't, Uncle Vernon will get mad if I'm not back, and I—"

Lena held up a hand, halting his babbling.

"Don't you worry, Harry, I'll have a talk with them, ey?"

"But they don't like people like you...Uncle Vernon says that you're all...uh...n-nevermind."

Tracer's expression didn't change, but Harry thought he could feel a change in the air, a tense energy that hadn't been there before.

"I've met his type before, Harry. I know how to deal with em. I'm not going to leave you out here to freeze, luv, so...please...let me help. I promise I'll keep ya safe, Harry. Let's go and get warmed up back at my flat, yeah?"

Harry hesitated. He didn't want to be a burden on this lady, this _superhero_. She was one of the nicest people he'd ever met, and he was nothing but a burden.

As if sensing his thoughts, Tracer waggled an eyebrow and said "I have some absolutely bloody brilliant hot cocoa back at my place. I'll let ya have a cuppa if ya come wiiiith." She extended out the with teasingly, and Harry was assaulted by an image of a steaming cup of hot chocolate with dozens of marshmallows bobbing around inside. He'd only had a treat like that twice in his life, and it had always been the cold dregs of whatever Dudley didn't want.

Harry took Lena's hand not a moment later, and the older woman's smile widened, exuding an innocent joy that Harry couldn't help but emulate somewhat.

"Right then, I'll make ya some when we get to my flat. A nice big mug, hmm?"

. . .

Lena Oxton, aka Tracer, smiled down at the young boy sleeping on her couch. After quaffing down a large mug of premium hot cocoa, Harry had promptly passed out, the combination of warm beverage and comfortable seat sending him into a deep sleep before he could even make a single protest. She hoped he slept well; he deserved it after what he'd been through.

Lena's smile changed into a snarl. If there was one thing she absolutely hated, it was people who abused children. She'd seen a lot of terrible things in her time with Overwatch: murderers, rapists, druggies, the whole nine yards of the scum of humanity. She'd joined the organization after the Omnic Crisis, during its peacekeeping days, and had concentrated her efforts towards fighting crime around the world alongside other agents. The cases involving children had left the deepest impressions on her; she remembered one mission to Nairobi where they had been assigned to rescue a troop of child soldiers that had been drafted into the African Liberation Front. Those small, dead faces had haunted her dreams for months afterwards.

She was determined to see Harry's guardians brought to justice. How anyone could mistreat such a sweet child was beyond her.

Tracer pulled out her communicator. Overwatch may have been shut down, but that didn't mean its members didn't keep in contact with each other. She wanted to preemptively clear as many obstacles out of her path before throwing these _despicable_ Dursleys behind bars. And she knew just the person to call to get that done.

"Lena, colour me surprised! It's been a few weeks since you last called. How are you doing, my girl?"

Lena grinned; she couldn't help it. That voice always reminded her of better times.

"Winston, I'm doing quite alright. A bit bored, but I suppose that's to be expected, mmm?"

A low chuckle washed through the speakers, Winton's amusement rendered in his full baritone voice.

"You never were the type to sit in one place, Lena. So, what can this old ape do for you today? You aren't in trouble again, are you?"

Lena briefly considered taking umbrage at Winston's use of the word _again_ , but decided to ignore it. It was kinda true, she did get into more trouble than was healthy for the average person.

"I'm not, no. I've got someone here at my flat who might very well be. A cute little sprog by the name of Harry Potter. I think his relatives might be abusin' him, Winston."

Lena knew that she had Winston's attention with that line. The massive gorilla was a big softie at heart when it came to kids, whether they were human, ape, or Omnic. The low growl that came through the speakers confirmed her thoughts.

"Hmph. And I assume you're calling to make sure they get put away, eh?"

"If they really are doing that to him, then yes. I don't want any chance of them gettin' out of the net. You should 'ave seen him, Winston. 'E ran into me at full speed like a bat out of hell, then froze up in terror as soon as he realized he'd hit someone. I caught a glimpse of a few nasty looking bruises when he was climbed up my stairs too. And according to him, his Uncle told 'im to wait outside in freezin' weather and not do anythin' freakish. For an hour!"

Lena cut herself off before she could go on a rant. She heard the sounds of keys clacking over the communicator.

"Hmmm, Harry Potter, Harry Potter. Ah, here we are. Born to Lily and James Potter, both deceased, placed with the mother's sister, Petunia. Currently resides in Little Whinging, Surrey, and attends the local school alongside his cousin, Dudley. My word, is that a child or an overweight orangutan? Anyways...his file is bit sparse, I'll need to do some digging. Athena?"

Lena heard a second voice come through the speakers, a smooth feminine tone that she recognized as Winston's AI companion.

"Yes Winston?"

"Put the shield generator test on hold for now, I need to look into this. Lena, call me back tomorrow, I should have all the necessary information by then."

Lena said goodbye and hung up, knowing well how Winston got when he was researching. He likely wouldn't stop until he had everything he needed, pulling an all nighter on the backs of countless bananas and jars of peanut butter.

Sliding her communicator back into her pocket, Lena ruffled Harry's hair, her lips quirking into a smile as she watched the boy sleep.

"Don't worry luv. A promise is a promise. And I don't intend on going back on my word."

* * *

 **And here concludes the first chapter of One Day in King's Row. And I know some people are going to point out that this is going to be a story that I am working on at the same time as three others. However, I am putting Avengers from Earthland on Hiatus for the moment (I have completely lost inspiration to write that fic), so there will only be three at a time.**

 **Chapters will get longer, the starting chapter is always my shortest one. And expect sporadic updates, I write when I can, but I don't always have the time or inspiration necessary.**


	2. Chapter 2: Mercy, Mercy, Mercy

**Z.R. Stein**

 **One Day in King's Row — an Overwatch/Harry Potter crossover AU fic.**

 **I do not own the characters to either series in any way.**

 **Wow, I honestly did not expect such a huge response for just one chapter. Given the small number of Overwatch fics, I didn't think there would be much of a fanbase. Thank you guys so much.**

 **I've decided that Harry's future family will consist of Tracer, Winston, Mercy, Zenyatta, and one other character that I am leaving up to you guys to pick. The poll should be up when I publish this.**

 **All five agents are going to have very important roles in Harry's life, and each is going to teach him an important lesson.**

 **Oh, and in case anyone mentions it in the future: it is absolutely absurd that Tracer or indeed, most of the playable agents ever had anything to with the First Omnic Crisis. In the "Are You With Us" short, Winston mentions that the First Crisis took place 30 years before the Second (and the Crisis itself only lasted** _ **maybe**_ **5 or 6 years), and Tracer is fucking** _ **26**_ **in the game! She joined during the twilight years of Overwatch's existence. Blizzard really needs to hammer down an official timeline to explain this stuff.**

 **Anyways, without further ado, let's get cracking.**

* * *

Harry nuzzled down into the blankets as he slowly drifted into consciousness, feeling more relaxed and rested than he could ever remember being before. Something smelled absolutely wonderful. It kind of reminded him of the hot cocoa he'd had the night before.

Harry's eyes snapped open. The cocoa. Tracer. He'd fallen asleep in Tracer's house! Oh, Uncle Vernon was going to be so mad!

Harry sat up as quickly as he could, throwing the fuzzy blanket that had been wrapped around him off of his body—he absently noted that the blanket was emblazoned with a giant Union Jack.

"Oh, good mornin' luv. Sleep well?"

Harry blinked in surprise. In the kitchen, he saw Trac—(Lena, he reminded himself, she wanted to be called Lena when she wasn't in uniform) flipping pancakes. She wore a old tee and pajama pants, the blue glowing thing on her chest still present. Her hair was even spikier than it had been yesterday, sticking up at absurd angles in a case of the worst bedhead Harry had ever seen. For a moment, Harry just stared at her before he started giggling. And he thought _his_ hair was bad! If Aunt Petunia saw Tracer's wild mane, he thought she might very well have a heart attack.

Thoughts of Aunt Petunia chased the brief second of levity away, and Harry scrambled off of the couch.

"Miss Oxton, I need to go, Uncle Vernon is going to be so mad and I—"

In a split second, Lena disappeared from the kitchen and reappeared beside Harry, a mischievous smile on her face. Harry would have screamed in surprise, but found he couldn't; something deliciously sugary and warm had somehow found it's way into his mouth. Looking down, Harry noticed that he had a pancake sticking out of his mouth, though how it got there was a mystery.

"Now now, none of that, Harry. We'll eat breakfast first, then we can talk about your uncle, mmm? Wouldn't want these pancakes to go to waste, now, would we?"

Harry nodded and began chewing the pancake in his mouth, savoring another flavor that was better than most anything he'd ever eaten before. Lena gestured for him to sit at the table, and Harry complied, sitting down obediently. After he'd finished, he looked up at Lena, uncertain.

"Uh...M-miss Oxton?"

"I told you, didn't I? Call me Lena, luv, Miss Oxton makes me sound like one of them bag ladies down at the market. And I don't look like a bag lady, do I?"

Harry shook his head, reddening in embarrassment.

"S-sorry..."

Lena chuckled as she slid another pancake to him on a plate and said "Don't be, ya have nothin' to be sorry about, Harry. Come on, eat up, I think ya need it. You're a growing boy, after all."

Harry's brow burrowed.

"But...Uncle Vernon always says that freaks like me don't deserve to eat good food..."

Harry heard a crunching noise, but when he looked at Lena, he didn't notice anything out of place; she was smiling the same pleasant smile she'd worn the whole time. He shrugged, passing it off as a noise from outside and began eyeing the pancake.

Lena kept her expression carefully controlled as she placed the now-unrecognizable fork in her pocket to dispose of later. She didn't want to startle Harry (children who'd gone through that he had needed a gentle hand), and the rather violent thoughts running through her head would most likely frighten him.

"Well, I'm not Uncle Vernon, am I? And I say if it's good enough for me, it's good enough for you. So eat that, enjoy it, and forget about Vernon for a few minutes, right luv?"

Harry nodded and dug into his food, slowly at first but with gathering speed.

After the two of them had eaten, Harry looked at Lena, questioningly.

Lena sighed and began "Right, well, to start off, I suppose I should ask...Harry, do you...like staying with your Aunt and Uncle?"

Harry frowned, looking down. He shook his head.

"They're not very nice to you, are they? They hurt you?"

Harry froze up temporarily before nodding his head robotically. Lena reached across the table and patted his hand, a strange look in her eyes.

"You do know that they've done to you is wrong, don't you?"

Harry shrugged and said "I...I guess. A part of me is just...used to it, I suppose. But I-I don't like it there either. And I know...I've seen the other kids...their parents don't treat them like that...and I know it's because I'm a freak—"

Harry stopped as Lena's hand tightened around his own. He looked up to see an uncharacteristic anger in her expression.

"Harry...I want you to say something with me, alright? I want you to say to yourself, 'I am not a freak.' Can you do that for me?"

Harry blinked and tilted his head to the side, confused.

"Why?"

"Because you're not!" Harry flinched at the near shout, then calmed down as Lena continued at a much more normal volume. "Look at me, Harry. See this?" She pointed at the glowing blue device on her chest. Harry nodded.

"This is a chronal accelerator. A long time ago, an accident happened when I was flying a jet and I kind of became...well, I suppose you could say I was a ghost. Sort of."

Harry's eyes widened. Lena was a _ghost_?

"Well, ok, not really, but I was trapped in this weird limbo where I existed but at the same time, I didn't...it's a bit difficult to explain, luv, but this," Lena rapped the accelerator with her knuckles, "This brought me back. Thank heavens for Winston. Because of this, I can live like any normal person. And this is also what gave me the abilities that I use as Tracer."

Harry nodded slowly, wondering where she was going with the conversation.

"You see Harry...I'm not exactly what one would call normal, ey? And that's ok. It doesn't make me a freak, it just makes me... _different_. I happen to know a lot of people who are different. Lots of 'em are even stranger than I am, but there ain't nuthin' wrong with that. That was just part of what made Overwatch, well, _Overwatch_. So...I ain't a freak. And neither are you, Harry. You're different. Special. One of a kind. So say it to yourself, right?"

Harry paused, then hesitantly said "I...I am n-not a freak."

Tracer smiled brightly, and Harry gave her a small grin in response. It felt...oddly good to say that. Harry repeated it himself under his breath. It gave him a thrill, like he was privately kicking Vernon in the teeth after years and _years_ of pain. It felt amazing.

Lena stood up and walked back to the kitchen, surreptitiously dropping the ex-fork into the bin. She felt like Harry was in a good place to drop her major question on him. At least, she hoped he was ready for it; victims of abuse could behave oddly when offered a chance at being saved. She could only hope that he hadn't become so beaten down as to not want to leave.

"Harry...if you could stay somewhere else other than with your Aunt and Uncle, would you want to? With someone who would actually care for you, I mean."

Harry looked up, shocked. He didn't even know that such a thing was possible.

"Really?! I-I mean, yes! I-if that's alright, that is..."

"It's more than alright, luv. No one should have to go through what you did. Just say the word and you'll be out of that house. You'll never have to see Vernon and Petunia again."

Harry reeled, the thought of actually leaving his Aunt and Uncle hitting him like a pile of cement blocks. He had been so afraid of what Vernon was going to say, and now Lena was giving him a chance to escape from his Uncle once and for all? He looked up at her with eyes that shined with unshed tears.

"I-I-I want to leave...I don't want to stay there a-anymore!"

Tracer smiled, a tad sadly, and nodded.

"Right then, I'll set some things up. You can stay here with me until we find someone to take care of you like a proper family should, ey?"

Harry nodded, tears running down his face. For the longest time, he'd dreamed of being somewhere else, with a mum and dad and people who actually _loved_ him like he knew normal families did. And now, because he had accidentally ran into the nicest lady in London, no the _whole world_ , he was seeing that dream realized.

As Tracer pulled a shiny looking phone thing out of pocket and walked into another room, Harry couldn't help but wish that he could stay with her instead of another family. He just wondered how he could go about asking her.

. . .

"Hello Winston, how's it going?"

Lena heard a low groan over the communicator, and smirked. Winston must have fallen asleep at his desk while looking up Harry. He never changed.

"Ugh, Lena...Lena! Is Harry still there with you?!"

Lena frowned, wondering why Winston had become so worked up when he had previously been quite calm and sleepy.

"Woah, slow down there, luv, what's got you so worked up? Harry's here, he's just in the kitchen."

"Lena, you have Level 5 clearance, so you must have been briefed on the magical world, right?"

Lena blinked, then responded in the affirmative. All Overwatch agents had at least Level 5 clearance to the archives of the UN when the organization had still existed, and they had all attended regular sessions to educate them on some of the more... _secret_ aspects of Earth's history. They knew the true reason behind the Omnic uprisings (the public had a vague idea, but nothing solid), they knew the truth behind the Tunguska blasts of 1908 and 2023 (aliens weren't actually little green men, it turned out), and they also knew about the magical world. The hidden society of magic users, witches and wizards, who had existed for thousands of years, and who did their utmost to hide away from the 'Muggles', to use the British term (Lena had always found that term to be _very_ insulting).

It had once been the policy of the various Ministries around the world to keep only the most important government officials informed of their existence, and communication between the magical and non-magical governments were few and far between, mostly relegated to emergencies. That had changed as technology advanced past what even wizards were capable of countering, and the Ministries around the world had watched in horror as in 2059, magic was officially revealed to the world at large when a dragon was caught on camera, attacking a small village in Vietnam, while over a dozen tamers tried to calm it down.

Or at least, it would have been revealed if the UN hadn't intervened on the behalf of the magicals.

A massive cover up operation had been launched, one of the biggest in history. Witnesses were paid off, footage was altered, and the public at large remained blissfully unaware. With the aid of the UN and certain members of Blackwatch, magical society once again became a secret, though the assistance did not come freely.

The UN and various other non-magical governments demanded that the magical governments of the world stop sticking their heads in the sand and start cooperating with their non-magical counterparts to a much greater degree. No more would the magicals be allowed to live as if they owned the world. In return for their help in keeping the Wizarding World a secret, the wizards would be required to begin integrating more technology into their lives, to educate their children to better understand the Muggle World, and to obey certain UN laws, particularly ones pertaining to basic civil rights. No longer would Obliviators target any non-magical who happened to stumble upon the magical world; those with Level 5 clearance or higher would be 'in the know' and would be exempt from such measures, and those who found out by accident would be Obliviated only with approval from a non-magical representative. The wizards, so used to being independent and 'superior', had grumbled and raged, but in the end, they had grudgingly agreed to the terms of the UN.

Lena remembered all of this as Winston continued, saying "Do you recall the part of the briefing on the so called 'Wizarding War' that occurred in England from 2050 to 2061? The conflict that was started by the self styled Dark Lord Voldemort?"

Lena scrunched up her nose.

"Ummm...not really. I mean, I vaguely remember what you're talking about Winston, but it's all kind of blurred together. Why is this important though?"

"Lena, Harry Potter is purportedly the one who defeated Voldemort. At the tender age of one."

Lena's eyes widened in shock.

"Wait...you mean?"

"Harry Potter is a wizard, Lena. One of the most famous wizards in the world, in fact."

Lena looked back out the door at Harry, who was sitting on a stool and swinging his legs idly.

"What the bloody hell is he doing in a suburban house with relatives that hate him, then? Who put him there?"

Lena heard a grunt over the speakers, followed by "I wasn't able to find that out. The magicals have barely even entered the 20th century in terms of tech, and that rate of advancement is _blistering_ for them. There's only so much I can do from a computer, the UN files are still very limited when it comes to their little world. I _was_ able to find a...hmph, an Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore listed as his magical guardian, but nothing beyond that."

Lena chewed on her lip momentarily, thinking. Harry had had enough shocks for one day, she decided. She'd wait a week or so, calm him down before dropping this bomb on him. In the meantime...

"Well, for what it's worth, thank you for doing this, Winston."

A rich, rolling chuckle rolled over the speakers.

"Any time, Lena. It's what old friends do. The necessary files should be in your communicator for when you need them. You can take them to the police at any time and get the investigation started, they should give you the necessary boost needed to push the arrest through."

Lena's lips twisted into an uncharacteristic sneer.

"I think I'll enjoy that."

. . .

The first inkling the Dursleys had that something was wrong was the pair of policemen that knocked on their door around noon. The day had been going swimmingly before that; the night before, the freak had wandered off by himself, and Vernon and Petunia had both shrugged and said good riddance. They were in high spirits the following morning, hoping that the freakish boy wasn't going to return anytime soon.

At the sound of knocking, Vernon got up and answered the door, walrus-like mustache twitching in suppressed amusement. The smile faded as soon as he saw the policemen. Having bobbies on your doorstep was generally not a good sign.

"Ah...yes, can I help you, officers?"

The slim one on the left cleared his throat, and began, saying "Hello, I'm Officer Brindley, this is Officer Lane, pleased to meet you. We have a warrant to search this house under probable cause of child abuse."

The shorter, broader policeman with a large beard chuckled ominously.

"Won't take but a moment, Mister. Is it alright if we come in? Hate to have to break down your door or dig a hole under your house to get in."

Officer Brindley rolled his eyes good naturedly, while Vernon paled rapidly.

"C-Child abuse? I can assure you gentlemen, there's nothing of any sort of that thing going on here, we love our Dudley, don't we?"

Dudley, who had approached when he heard the word 'policeman', scowled.

"Then why didn't you get me more than thirty three present for my last birthday?"

Vernon growled at his son, face turning slightly red.

" _Not_ _now_ , _Dudley_!"

Officer Lane observed the byplay and cleared his throat, gaining control of the conversation back.

"Actually, the tip we received told of a different boy. A...wazzit, what was his name, Harry Potter?"

Officer Brindley nodded.

"Harry Potter. Is there a Harry Potter living here?"

Vernon shook his head frantically.

"No one by that name living here, sirs, just my wife and my son, nothing to see here, now, if you two would kindly be on your way!"

Vernon grabbed Officer Brindley and began pushing him out of the door, face gradually turning the colour of a rutabaga. Officer Lane frowned deeply, hand moving to his belt.

"Mister Dursley, sir, please calm down!"

"I will not calm down!" Vernon yelled "You people have no right to just go up and invade my home like this, we are fine, we have nothing to hide, now please, _go away_!"

"Sir, we have a signed warrant here from—"

" **Now you listen here!** " screamed Vernon " **This is my house, and I decide what goes on here! I won't stand for—** "

Vernon's shouted protestations died as Officer Lane jabbed the front end of his taser into Vernon Dursley's midsection. The enormous man collapsed to the ground, spasming erratically as electricity rendered his muscles useless.

"Dad!"

"Vernon!"

Officer Brindley held out a hand to stop the two.

"Ma'am, I am sorry for that, but your husband was well on his way to adding assault of a police officer to his charges. My partner was simply trying to protect me. Now, I think we can forgive this little outburst, but we really do have a signed search warrant. Let's not make this any worse than it needs to be, alright ma'am?"

Petunia gazed down at her twitching husband, her skin bone white in panic and suppressed horror.

"O-of course."

. . .

The investigation into the Dursleys dismal treatment of Harry took a good two days to finalize, and by the time all of the evidence was compiled, there was no doubt in the minds of those involved that Vernon (and possibly Petunia) was going to be spending a very, _very_ long time in prison. The locked cupboard under the stairs that contained numerous old blankets, cobbled together toys, and a few dusty books was only the tip of the iceberg; after recovering from his tasing at the hands of a smug Officer Lane, Vernon had launched into one of his trademark tirades, decrying the 'freak' that he and his wife had had to put up with for eight years. If that wasn't enough, numerous neighbors had come forwards, citing their experiences with the Dursley's nephew, and how they had been told he was a delinquent youth that caused nothing but trouble. An old teacher of Harry's had gone on record to say that in her class, the boy was nothing but a perfectly polite boy, meek and small for his age, and that she had had suspicions since watching Harry's behavior around her classroom. Most importantly, the word of a former Overwatch agent was driving the investigation; Overwatch may have been disbanded, but most citizens the world over still thought of them as true heroes. A word from one of them, especially one as well known and loved as Tracer, and Scotland Yard was crawling over itself to put the Dursleys where they belonged; behind bars.

Harry, however, remained blissfully unaware of what was going on. He found himself caring about the Dursleys less and less as the third day with Trace—Lena came. He was in seventh heaven so far; Lena had turned out to be everything he had ever wanted in a mother figure; caring, humorous, and kind in a way that cemented her as the nicest person Harry had ever met. She took him shopping for new clothes and let him pick what he wanted to wear, something which Petunia would never have done.

It was while they were in the shops and Harry was changing that Lena caught a glimpse of Harry's back. She took in a sharp breath at the fading bruises and old scars that crisscrossed his back, looking more like a slave from a hundred years before the turn of the century rather than a British boy in the year 2070. Harry remained ignorant of her observation, and Lena swept her righteous anger under the rug; the Dursleys were getting what they deserved, she needed to restrain from frightening Harry with any angry outbursts. She had seen how he had reacted when she had raised her voice the one time and was resolved to be as patient and understanding of his situation as possible, while also trying to help him recover mentally.

Physically, however, she thought she might need a little help.

Which was why, hours later, when Harry was watching the telly after a hearty dinner from one of the local Indian joints, Lena called up another old friend.

"You haff reached Doctor Angela Ziegler, who is this?"

Lena smiled and responded "Hey Angie, it's Lena. What'd you do, get a new phone, luv? Shoulda recognized me by the caller ID."

A long suffering sigh came over the speakers, though Lena could tell it was tinged with genuine fondness. Angela Ziegler, aka Mercy, aka Angie (though only to Tracer) was one of Lena's closest friends when they had been in Overwatch together. The older woman was something of a role model for Lena, and she knew she could count on the good Doctor when she needed help.

"How many times haff I told you not to call me zat, Lena? Still, it is good to hear from you; I apologise as well, I do indeed haff a new communicator. Why are you calling? I hope you haff not gotten into trouble again, hmmm?"

Lena pouted. First Winston and now Angela as well?

"I'm not in trouble!" Lena took a breath, centering herself. "Actually, I wanted to ask a favour, luv. Where are you at, and how fast do you think you can get to London?"

There was a pause, and when Angela's voice came back there was a concerned tinge to it.

"Are you sure zat you are alright, Lena? This seems like it must be urgent."

"I'm fine, and it isn't urgent, just...something that needs to be done, and I want someone I can trust. The favour's not for me."

Lena heard a considering hum, and Angela responded "Vell, you are in luck, häsli. I am actually in France right now, I will come by after I've finished up here. Who is the patient zat I will be attending to?"

Lena smiled, relieved.

"A boy, nine years old. He's been abused by his relatives something fierce, I wanted you ta take a look at 'im, give him a right good check up. His name of Harry Potter, he—"

Lena was cut off by Angela's gasp.

"Harry Potter? _Ze_ Harry Potter? Ze _Boy-Who-Lived_? Vat in ze world...vhy would...I don't...? Vhy is he vith you? Vhat do you mean, abused?!"

"Woah, woah, slow down there Angie, I know when your accent gets thicker like that you're angry, what's wrong? I know he's a wizard, but—"

"You don't understand, häsli, zat boy is an international hero in Wizarding circles! My niece is a witch, so I haff more exposure to zeir little world than most, even among ze other agents. She attends Beauxbatons in France, my niece; I saw her zis weekend, you know, I vas in ze area and went to see her. But regardless, she is a fan of ze Harry Potter books, ze ones zat details his many adventures as a young boy; from vat she has told me, ze are immensely popular novels. Utter lies, but she seems to enjoy zem. And zat attitude towards Harry Potter is one I haff noticed in most every witch or wizard I haff met. Some of them even almost _vorship_ him, from what I haff seen. Where did you find him, zat he vould be _abused_ , of all things?"

Lena's lips thinned.

"With his aunt and uncle, the Dursleys. I don't know why he was put there. The only thing Winston was able to find out is that his magical guardian is some bloke with an obscenely long name. Uh...Albis Percy...Duffledore, I think."

Lena heard another sharp intake of breath, followed by the grinding of teeth, and recognized the beginning of one of the most feared events in Overwatch; a full blown Mercy rant.

" _Dumbledore_? He is ze one responsible for zis, zis, _atrocity_ , inflicting zis on a young boy? Did he never check up on ze child? Did he even care? Vhy was he placed with relatives who vould even think of doing...agh! If you'll excuse me, Lena, I need to go speak to someone about zis. I should be zere much sooner zan expected."

Lena blinked in confusion as the phone was hung up, rather unexpectedly, and she looked down at it.

"Huh. Wonder what all that's about then?"

. . .

Not even twenty minutes later, Lena opened the door of her flat to behold a nigh apoplectic Angela with a harried looking French wizard in tow. The older woman's face softened somewhat upon seeing her old comrade.

"Lena! Oh, come here, häsli!"

Lena found herself enveloped in a bone crushing hug, before standing back and taking a moment to observe her friend. It had been nearly a year since she had seen Angela; after the dissolution of Overwatch, the Swiss native had left to the Middle East to establish her own clinic, though she often went out on trips wearing her Valkyrie Swift Response Suit to aid in various conflicts or disaster zones around the planet. She wasn't currently wearing said exosuit; she was instead clad in a smart, light blue paramedic uniform, complete with a small Overwatch insignia on her shoulder. Her hair was a little bit longer, and her signature 'halo' (actually an advanced medical scanner that had been developed by Angela and Torbjörn for expedient use on the battlefield) was missing from her head, but she was the same Angie that Lena remembered.

"It is good to see you, Lena. Now, where is the boy?"

Lena smiled at her friend and gestured over her shoulder.

"The little sprog is just watching telly. I should warn you, 'e can be a mite bit skittish, try to be gentle. With him."

Angela harrumphed, a gleam in her eye.

"I'll have you know not one person has complained about my bedside manner since I left Overwatch. Not _one_. Unlike some of ze _ruffians_ I treated during my time there. Do you know McCree had ze nerve to call me 'one scary ass lady' to my face? Zat man. Hmph!"

Lena hid a snicker. She remembered that day.

As Angela swept into the room in full on Mercy mode, Harry looked up from the telly, eyes widening at seeing the immaculately beautiful woman who had entered the room.

"A-are you an angel?"

Harry flushed at the woman's laugh.

"Zere have been some who have called me that over the years. But no, I am just a Doctor. My name is Angela Ziegler. Lena called me here to look at you, make sure that everything is alright. May I?"

Harry shifted, uncomfortable with the idea. He didn't like people looking at his body, especially at all the marks that Vernon had given him. Angela noticed and seemed to understand.

"If you would like, I can scan you instead? It is completely non invasive, you won't even feel a thing, and you can remain fully clothed."

Harry blinked, amazed at the technology that would be able to do such a thing, and nodded. Angela nodded as well, and snapped her fingers.

"Jaune, my bag."

A man, who Harry had not noticed before, heaved a long suffering sigh and handed Angela a large black leather bag, that Harry recognized as the kind many travelling doctors used.

"I don't know why you had me come along just to be your bagman, Angela." said the man in a flawless English, only an impression of Parisian French in his accent. "I am an Auror, not a Doctor."

Angela snorted as she reached into the bag.

"You are also my step brother. I think zat entitles me to your assistance. Ah, here we are, I knew I had my scanner in here."

Angela pulled a small, handheld device out of the bag and pointed it at Harry, who just stood there as the thing emitted a stream of silver particles that swept up and down his body before finally returning to the scanner.

"And we are done. The wonders of nanotechnology at work. Thank you, Mister Potter."

Harry blinked, surprised. That was it?

"Oh...you're welcome."

The doctor nodded to Harry, a strange look in her eyes, before she turned away.

"Lena, I'll go over this while you look to Harry. I believe it is about time he go to bed, yes? Doctor's orders."

Lena rolled her eyes, but she obliged, patting Harry on the shoulder.

"Come on then luv, let's get you off to your bed."

In the three days that Harry had been living at Lena's flat, she had set up a bed for him in a small room that had once been her private study (as a former Overwatch agent, she wasn't exactly hurting for money, and had been able to buy a rather large flat for herself). It wasn't much, and Lena had apologised for its sparseness several times, but Harry had loved it.

After closing the door to Harry's room, Lena returned and slung herself over the couch. She noticed the hard set of Angela's eyes and sighed, knowing that whatever was wrong with Harry was pretty bad.

"What's your prognosis, Doc?"

Angela glared at nothing in particular and said "Ze boy has quite ze collection of scars, and one or two severe contusions. No broken bones, as far as I can tell, though I wouldn't expect him to have them. Perpetrators of abuse mostly tend to not want ze authorities to find out and go for wounds zat are easily healed. He is, however, rather malnourished, zey can't haff been feeding the boy much. And zere is one other thing zat concerns me greatly..."

Angela frowned down at her scanner and said "While I was scanning Harry, I told Jaune to run a magical scan on him as well. If the boy does not currently know of his heritage, now is not a good time to tell him...no reason to cause the little one worry. What Jaune found is...disconcerting, to say the least."

Lena looked at Jaune, who cleared his throat and said "Yes...well, like Angela said, I found...something attached to the boy. I can't say much more than that, as I've never seen anything like it. It is, however, almost certainly Dark."

Lena's eyes widened.

"He's got some bit of Dark magic in 'im? Why the hell is tha' in there then, ey?"

Jaune shrugged.

"I do not know. You would need to take him to see a professional healer. A magical one; I am not trying to say you are not qualified, _ma chère belle soeur._ "

Angela sniffed.

"I know zat, Jaune. Anyways...Lena. Ze boy should recover fine as long as you feed him well and generally care for him. Ze bruises will fade, and I can give you some nano-infused cream to erase the scarring. He should be fine, physically, in a few weeks if you treat him well, though the malnourishment will take longer to fix completely."

Lena nodded, relieved.

"I have one of your old guides that I can use to make up a diet for him that will give 'im everything he needs. Thanks for stopping by, Angela."

Angela snorted and gave Lena another hug as Jaune stood silently in the background.

"Anytime, häsli. I will come by in a few weeks, give the little one a check up. Come, Jaune."

As the two of them left, Lena stared after them, smiling slightly at Jaune's grumbling. Mercy hadn't changed a bit.

* * *

 **Told you the next chapter would be longer.**

 **Mercy was hella fun to write. Her accent was also hella hard to pin down. That's what happens when a character has two frickin voice actors who both have somewhat odd accents.**

 **If you are wondering, häsli is a Swiss-German term of endearment. It means hare. I thought it was cute and appropriate.**

 **I hope you guys like this, leave a fav, follow, or (preferably) a review and tell me what you think.**

 **Oh, and just so you guys know; next chapter Mercy is going to rip Albus Dumbledore a new one. It should be fun, bring popcorn.**


	3. Chapter 3: Confrontation and Serenity

**Z.R. Stein**

 **One Day in King's Row — an Overwatch/Harry Potter crossover AU fic.**

 **I do not own the characters to either series in any way.**

 **The poll is now closed, and surprise surprise, Genji is the top pick, with a whopping 9 out of 18 votes. Looks like everyone's favorite kawaii cyborg ninja will be joining the family. He and Zenyatta probably won't show up in England for a wee bit, but don't worry, they will eventually get there.**

 **I am mildly disappointed nobody voted for the supercool OC option. Ah well. Genji is cool.**

 **Send your questions in a review and I will answer them next chapter.**

 **Fair warning; Dumbledore is not a nice person here. He is arrogant, manipulative, power hungry, and more than a little bit judgemental. He won't be flat out evil, but don't expect a redeemed Dumbledore either. And for anyone who complains; yes, it has also been done a thousand times before. But there is a** _ **reason**_ **for that. I mean, if you look at canon, it is almost impossible to justify Dumbledore's actions while still making him out to be 'good'.**

 **But never mind about that...you guys can probably read entire essays devoted to Rowling's faulty justifications. You're not here for that though. You're here for the fic! So enjoy!**

* * *

Dumbledore hummed contentedly as he sat in his office, a cup of steaming tea in hand. The school year had been fairly quiet so far, which he was perfectly content with; happy students made his life easier, after all. There had been an incident with three of his Slytherin pupils, but Dumbledore was hopeful that those boys would come to see the Light eventually and had let them off with a warning. None of them were from purely Dark families, after all, and the second year girls that they had attacked had just been a pair of muggleborns (and they had recovered afterwards thanks to Poppy's help. He had been relieved and waved away Minerva's pointed questions about punishment. Boys being boys, in his opinion). That all three of the Slytherins were heirs to families that Dumbledore wanted to seek favor with certainly factored into his leniency towards them, not that he would ever tell anyone about that.

Outside of the school, his political position was stable, as Head of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW. Fudge was firmly under his thumb as well—where he should be in Dumbledore's mind, giving him much needed power without Albus having to take up the duties of Minister himself. _That_ headache of a job was one he did not begrudge Fudge, and he was very thankful that the Minister was such a weak willed individual. It made him an excellent pawn. The arrangement between them freed up his time for more important activities, such as the running of Hogwarts. Though, Dumbledore admitted to himself, the new breadth of his ICW duties stole away time that he could use serving as Headmaster, and it was beginning to annoy him...

Dumbledore grimaced over his cup. Since the partial revelation of the magical world and the subsequent changes in their culture over the past eleven years, Dumbledore had had to devote far more of his time to ICW duties than he ever had before. He had hoped, briefly, that with the downfall of Overwatch (good riddance, Albus thought. While they had done some good, the so called 'heroes' of Overwatch were far too unstable and destructive for his own liking), and its various branches that the Muggles would back off, but if anything, their interference had increased in recent years. It seemed that losing their pet mercenaries had only emboldened the Muggles.

Dumbledore frowned even more deeply. As Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, he was usually able to guide the votes of his fellow representatives, with a carefully placed word or two, but he was continuously stonewalled when it came to the Muggle sanctions. The American, French, Japanese, and Russian Ministries in particular had aligned themselves almost totally with the interests of their respective Muggle counterparts, to the point where they were borderline _subservient_ to the Muggle government. Dumbledore huffed; while he was no pureblood fanatic, the Muggles really should know their place. How ever many fascinating gadgets they created, they still lacked magic, and therefore were not qualified to interfere in the wizarding world; they simply lacking the necessary knowledge to make proper decisions regarding wizards.

Still, there was one upside to the meddling of the Muggles. Wizarding communities around the world were experiencing what many called 'a magical Renaissance', as new technology and ideas entered their communities, imaginations being sparked by the new ways of thinking (though sometimes not for the better. Dumbledore still shuddered on occasion, remembering the censorship he had pushed through the Wizengamot on all Muggle works pertaining to communism. That was one idea that he did _not_ want taking hold in _his_ county).

In addition, the economy of Wizarding Britain was at its highest mark in a two centuries, which was the main reason why most of the pureblood families had quietly toned down their hardline stance when it came to the Muggle interference. If there was one thing more powerful than tradition, Dumbledore mused, it was greed. Even a few of Tom's former supporters had ceased their grumblings, though there were still a fair few that hadn't. The Malfoys were probably the most outspoken about their disdain of the new direction of the Wizarding world, but even they knew not to do anything too serious. Lucius was many things, but stupid was not one of them; resisting the flow of popular opinion would not benefit him in the long run.

Aside from politics...Dumbledore's thoughts drifted to Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived was where he should be, in Albus' mind, locked away with his Aunt and Uncle. He was safe, unaware of the magical world, and most important, would be kept pliable by the abuse his relatives heaped on him. It pained Dumbledore's heart to put the boy through that, but if he was to ever defeat Tom and save the magical world once again, he needed Harry to be a martyr. If Harry saw him as his savior, it would make the boy much easier to shape and mold into the hero that Britain needed. And when the boy died, Dumbledore would be there to once again save the day. And all would be in its right and proper place.

A clanging noise caught Dumbledore's attention, dragging him out of his thoughts, and he glanced sharply up. The alarm that was coded to the wards around the Dursleys house was ringing, and as he watched, the device sputtered and died. Dumbledore paled. There were only four reasons that the device would react that way: either Harry was dead (he sincerely hoped such a thing didn't happen so soon, but it would be acceptable, as such an event would need to happen in the future anyways), Harry had married someone (preposterous, as the boy was nine years old), the device had somehow broken (also preposterous; there was no reason for the malfunction, and it wasn't even ten years old), or, most likely, Harry had stopped calling the house on Privet Drive his home.

Dumbledore turned to Fawkes, ready to flame to the Dursleys to check up on young Harry, when a silvery cat bounded into his office. He recognized it as Minerva's Patronus, and it spoke in his Deputy's voice not a moment later.

" _Albus, there's a...Muggle woman...who barged into the Great Hall with a French Auror in tow. She's demanding to speak with you at once. I'm bringing her up, Albus, we'll be there momentarily._ "

Dumbledore sighed, his previous good mood fully evaporated. This sounded urgent, and Harry could probably keep for another few minutes. However, the moment that he was finished dealing with this Muggle, he would be off; it wouldn't do to lose his most valuable piece.

. . .

Minerva Mcgonagall tried not to stare at the woman, who had stormed into Hogwarts not five minutes past and demanded to speak with Dumbledore. Her dress marked her out quite clearly as a Muggle, and yet, the woman had seemed utterly unconcerned about that as she'd strode towards the staff table like the oncoming wrath of God. When she had reached the table, she'd glanced around before her gaze finally settling on the empty, throne like chair at the center of the table. Her eyes had narrowed, and she'd begun speaking, a pronounced Swiss accent marking her words.

"Vere is Dumbledore, zen? I haff a great need to talk with him."

Any attempts to ask the woman to explain herself had been met with a repetition of her original question, and Mcgonagall, after introducing herself, had sent a Patronus out to warn Albus while she escorted the woman to his office. Normally she wouldn't do this, but she did have an Auror accompanying her, and the woman looked the right age to be the mother of one of her students. She did look vaguely familiar...

"Right this way, Miss...?"

"Ziegler. Angela Ziegler."

Mcgonagall blinked, her memory supplying her with the reason why the woman, Angela, looked so familiar. Minerva Mcgonagall was very much a 'traditional witch', but she still had ties to the Muggle World. One of her few surviving family members on her father's side had worked for Overwatch as a technician, and had told her stories of the agents that he had run into during his tenure. Angela Ziegler, the agent known as 'Mercy', was a peerless doctor and peacekeeper, a woman with a sharp mind and impeccable morals.

"You...you're a former member of that Muggle group, Overwatch, are you not? Forgive me, but why are you here, Miss Ziegler? If I recall, your organization was shut down last year, and I would remember if I had a student with your name."

Ziegler laughed pleasantly.

"Ah, I do not haff children, Professor. If I did and one of zem was magical, they vould most likely not attend Hogwarts either. No offense to your school," Angela said earnestly "But I am Swiss, after all, however little time I spent in my home country."

Mcgonagall nodded as the two of them reached the gargoyle in front of Albus' office.

"After you, Miss Ziegler."

. . .

As the two of them entered Dumbledore's office, Angela took a moment to look around. She had only met the old man once, during an ICW meeting that she and Jack had attended about ten years back. Having served in Overwatch, among a plethora of _unique_ individuals (and that was putting it lightly), she hadn't even batted an eye at his odd choice of dress. She had, however, pegged him as man who had a dangerously arrogant belief in himself and his own surety. He reminded her somewhat of Reinhardt in that respect, though without her old friend's blunt personality and enormous heart. Reinhardt _was_ one of the most arrogant and vain men that she knew, but it was tempered by his own chivalric code and open personality. He truly believed himself to be a knight in shining armour, and while that sometimes caused him trouble, he kept to his code. Dumbledore hadn't made such an impression on her.

The man's office office was, in a word, eclectic, stuffed to the gills as it was with magical devices that only Dumbledore likely knew how to operate and interpret. Whirling gyro spheres of brass spun while a little bellows puffed tiny rings of smoke. Absently, Angela noted one of the devices seemed broken.

Dumbledore fixed his eyes onto Angela's face, a grandfatherly twinkle in his eye. It seemed to fade somewhat as he recognized her.

"Well, I certainly did not expect to see you here, Miss...Mercy, was it? Why is it that you find yourself at my school, if I may ask, my girl?"

"Please, Mercy is my callsign, and I am not your 'girl', Dumbledore. I vould prefer to be addressed by my name. You may call me Doctor Ziegler." Angela said, a tad annoyed. She continued, saying "As for vhy I am here...vell, I've never been one to beat around the bush as it were. I want to know why you put ze Boy-Who-Lived vith those...those _despicable_ human beings."

Angela watched Dumbledore's face pale rapidly, and she frowned angrily. Beside her, Mcgonagall was blinking, looking between the two of them.

"Harry Potter? Why are you asking about him? My dear, has something happened to him?"

Angela snorted and turned to address the Deputy Headmistress, seeing as Dumbledore seemed to be caught up in a minor personal crisis.

"Something _happened_? Ha! Harry's guardians are attending zeir trial as we speak, for _child abuse_! Scotland Yard expects zem to serve ten years each, at _minimum_. I vould say zere was something very wrong, wouldn't you?"  
Mcgonagall began to pale before she too turned to Dumbledore.

"Albus? What is she talking about?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth and closed it before managing to crack out "Minerva, these accusations must be false, I would never...the boy is perfectly safe—"

Angela inflated, eyes narrowing at Dumbledore's paper thin rebuttal.

"Perfectly safe, you say? I performed an examination of 'ze boy' not even a day ago. You know vat I found?"

"Please, Miss Ziegler, you cannot just barge into my office and make these accusations about—"

Angela cut Dumbledore off once again and continued, biting out "Bruises. Scars. And a level of malnutrition zat is almost unheard of in zis country in ze past two centuries. I haff seen healthier children zat vere raised in ze Australian Outback, and zat is a radioactive _wasteland_ , Dumbledore!"

Mcgonagall gaped at Angela before he mouth snapped shut. The portraits of former Headmasters were all silent, watching the byplay with bated breath; this little incident was more entertaining than anything that had happened in this office in the past thirty years.

"The Dursleys...they...by Merlin and Morgana, Albus! I told you, didn't I? I told you all those years ago that they were the worst sort of Muggles imaginable, but no, you told me that they'd treat the little bairn like one of their own! Albus!"

Dumbledore looked up at Mcgonagall's shout, his visage the picture of remorse.

"If this is true...I didn't know...I couldn't have—"

"Are you doubting me, Dumbledore? Vat motive vould I haff to lie? You can speak to Jaune if you like, surely the word of a decorated French Auror counts for something, perhaps more so than a Muggle like myself, no?"

Dumbledore grimaced and said after a moment "...I believe you, Miss Ziegler, but I want you to understand—"

"Did you even check on him, zen?" interjected Angela "Ze way I see this, you are either blind and incompetent, or you knew, and zat is a far greater sin. Vell? Vich is it?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, before he spoke again.

"I...never checked up on him, I am sorry to say. I was so sure that they would treat the boy like their own son, Petunia is his aunt, after all."

"Hmph. Blood is not nearly as thick as you seem to think it is, Dumbledore. Zere are many families out zere who vould gladly kill each other on sight." Angela said "You left a child, alone, with no supervision, with a pair of strangers and never checked on him. The consequences of this are firmly on your head, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore jerked his head.

"Yes...of course."

The old man huffed, regaining some of his composure.

"About the boy..."

"Harry. His name is Harry."

Dumbledore blinked, then nodded, a small grimace on his face.

"Yes, I know that, Miss Ziegler. About Harry...where is it that you performed this examination, if I may ask? How is it that a former Overwatch agent such as yourself happened to...run into the b-Harry."

Angela raised an eyebrow, and simply said "I don't see how zat matters."

Dumbledore stroked his beard and responded "Call it simple curiosity."

Angela sniffed and said "An old friend of mine called me when I vas in France. She'd found ze little one in ze middle of King's Row. He'd been waiting, stuck outside of ze restaurant in ze cold while his aunt and Uncle ate inside ze building. For over an _hour_!"

"And...where is he now?"

Angela glared at Dumbledore.

"Vhy?"

Dumbledore frowned.

"I simply wish to ensure his safety, that boy is very important to our world."

"Ha! You claim to look out for his safety after what you haff done to him? I think you haff relinquished all claims to interfere in his life, he is out of your hands."

Dumbledore frowned even more, his blue eyes calculating.

"That is not up to you to decide."

Angela snorted.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it is not up to you either. I vill make sure of it."

Mcgonagall, who had been watching the exchange with mounting horror, took the opportunity to begin shouting, and the conversation devolved from there. By the time Angela left, nearly an hour had gone by, and Mcgonagall had exhausted herself quite thoroughly.

. . .

Dumbledore sat in his chair, tea forgotten and cold as he contemplated this unpleasant turn of events. He had not expected anyone to find out about Harry's home life so early, and the parties who were now privy to this breach made the situation even worse. Though he didn't know her very well, Albus knew that Angela Ziegler likely had a massive web of connections in the Muggle world, as befitting a former agent of Overwatch, and was not to be taken lightly. Despite being a Muggle, she apparently had some connection to the magical world (Being accompanied by a French Auror was evidence enough of that). If she had been the one to find the boy, and the two of them had talked alone, he would have tried to wipe her mind, and would have quietly moved Harry back to the Dursleys. However, neither of those events had come to pass; someone else (an old friend of Miss Ziegler's...perhaps another agent?) had found Harry, and Minerva had been present as well. Dumbledore grimaced. The dressing down he had received from both women had been fearsome to behold. And while he had been able to convince his Deputy of his ignorance, her trust in him was bound to be fractured, perhaps beyond repair.

At least he now knew why the ward monitor had stopped functioning. Harry was likely settling in with Miss Ziegler's 'old friend' and had declared his new quarters home after only a handful of days.

Dumbledore stroked his beard, thinking. Perhaps this situation could still be salvaged. Too many people were now aware of the placement of the Boy-Who-Lived to just sweep it under the rug, but he could swing this to his advantage yet. He could announce to the public his decision of eight years past, making sure to emphasize the blood wards protectiveness and the bond existing between Lily and Petunia. With the right push in the Wizengamot and a few choice words to Fudge, he could petition to have Harry be removed from the custody of whatever Muggle had illegally taken Harry in, and place the boy with a different family. The Weasleys would be an excellent choice, in his mind. Molly, bless her heart, would gladly accept another child into her family, especially if he gave her access to the Potter vaults.

He would need to work towards regaining Minerva's trust as well, in addition to other side projects.

Dumbledore hummed and nodded to himself. The Light could still gain a victory from this defeat.

. . .

"How's this then, luv?"

Harry looked adoringly up at Lena as he tested out the new winter coat she'd bought him. The two of them were in Lena's flat, the former agent throwing clothing at Harry that she'd picked up from another store. The nine year old's wardrobe had expanded dramatically over the past few days, but the boy still reacted with the same open eyed appreciation that could only come from one who had gone without for so long.

"It's wonderful! Thank you, Lena! I've never had a coat like this before."

Lena grinned and winked at Harry.

"Stick with me and ye'll see there's plenty more where tha' came from, Harry."

Harry stopped smiling and turned large, emerald eyes on Lena.

"Can I?"

Lena quirked an eyebrow at Harry, questioning.

"Can ya wat, luv?"

"Can I stay with you?"

Lena stopped on a dime, scarf in hand. Truth be told, she had almost forgotten about sending Harry away to be with another family. Caring for him had just seemed like a natural progression from finding him. She'd always wanted kids; it was just, after the accident, and her subsequent years with Overwatch, it had never seemed like it was a viable idea. But now that Overwatch was disbanded, she was looking at the opportunity right in front of her that she'd always wanted (one of the few good things to come from Overwatch's collapse, in her opinion).

Lena put a hand on Harry's shoulder as she worried her lip. Did she really want to go through with this? Was she even ready to become a guardian for a child, especially one with such a... _unique_...background as Harry?

"Do you want to?"

"Yes. More than anything."

Well, Lena supposed, normal kids would have probably been boring anyways. As a radiant smile appeared on Harry's face, she felt a similar one on forming on her own lips. Lena squatted down and tapped Harry on the nose.

"Then I'm sorry to say it, luv, but it looks like you're stuck with me."

"Yaaay!"

. . .

Thousands of miles away, in a remote corner of Bangladesh, a lone Omnic sat on a wizened stump as he watched his apprentice move through a set of katas. If Zenyatta had been able to smile, he would have; his newest pupil still had reservations, but in the month and a half that they had been together, the young Shimada had begun to forgive himself, and was slowly working on all of the anger towards others he had built up over the years. Zenyatta knew Genji still had a long way to go, but Rome was not built in a day, after all, and the Shambali alum was confident that he could guide Genji to peace, with sufficient time.

"Enough, my student. It is time for our daily meditation."

The cyborg ninja halted in his exercises and bowed as he sheathed his sword.

"Yes, Master."

Genji approached Zenyatta and settled into a peculiar crouching meditation posture that Zenyatta had taught him, a technique that the Omnic monks at the Shambali had developed after reading scrolls about the Shaolin monks.

"Let us begin, my student."

Zenyatta floated off of the stump and stretched his arms out to the sides. The nine dots on his forehead, his Jieba, lit up with golden light, and six ethereal arms extended from his sides. Zenyatta heard the sharp intake of breath from his student, and internally chuckled. Even after dozens of demonstrations, his student still was awestruck by his transformation.

"Experience tranquility, Genji Shimada. _Pass into the Iris_."

Sending out his consciousness, Zenyatta began guiding Genji along the path of the Iris, gently showing him the wonder of this higher order of living. Contrary to popular belief, the Iris was not an actual deity that the Omnics of the Shambali believed in. No, it was more of a mental state, though there was a mystical element to it, and a certain spirituality. The Iris was a higher plane of existence, a plane on which physical form did not exist, and only the soul was visible. By entering the Iris, one could comprehend the true essence of a soul, whether their own or that of another. They could feel the thrum of the Earth, the heartbeat of the land, and could align themselves with the collective will of the cosmos, if they only knew how to listen. And occasionally, every once in awhile when it was truly needed, the Iris chose to interact with a soul in contact with it. One such touch had enlightened his old friend Mondatta during one of his early meditations.

Another had Zenyatta doubled over in pain as a vision assaulted his mechanical mind.

The young Omnic monk saw a thousand, no, a hundred thousand images in full detail as they flitted through his mind. A man with a face like a snake, grinning madly as he brandished a stick of polished wood at a red haired woman. A jet of green light that caused the space of the Iris to _shudder_ with its wrongness. A cry of pain from the man as his corrupted soul fled, his physical form lost. A tiny baby boy, a lightning shaped scar on his head, placed on a doorstep in the middle of the night. Another man, old and with pale blue eyes like chips of ice, his soul prideful and unbending.

More and more images raced through the Omnic's mind. A woman wearing a glowing blue device coughed in surprise as a small boy ran into her; Zenyatta identified her as the hero Tracer, an old comrade of Genji's. Her soul was bright and kind, still innocent even after all the darkness she had faced in her short life. He saw that the boy was the same one who had been left on the doorstep, the lightning scar still visible on his forehead. He saw their meeting, and everything afterwards. He saw laughter and love, a love that developed over years until it formed a profound bond.

He saw darkness, an onrushing wall of destruction that reeked of despair, and Tracer and the boy were at the center of it. He saw death, broken Omnics laying in the street next to a wounded human, a massive knight protecting them with an energy shield. He saw the man with the face of a snake, his form returned as he attacked the boy with savage glee. He saw a mask shaped like a skull, and heard a sinister laugh that echoed hollowly, the sound of guns firing, and an unearthly screech. He saw a field of blood, a shattered moon, and rising clouds that were shaped like mushrooms.

The surge was too much. With an electronic screech, Zenyatta came back out of the Iris, flopping to the ground as his concentration disrupted.

A short eternity later, Zenyatta regained control of his senses. He registered someone shaking his shoulder desperately.

"Master! Master! Please, answer me Master!"

Zenyatta held out a hand and brushed Genji away.

"I have recovered my student. Do not worry yourself."

"Master, what happened? You were guiding me along the path, and suddenly you...you vanished. And when I came out of my meditation, you were convulsing!"

Zenyatta shook his head and held a hand out to Genji. The cyborg pulled him up and Zenyatta sat back down onto the log, his limbs twitching noticeably. After taking a moment to center himself, Zenyatta began speaking.

"I have felt a disturbance in the Force."

Genji cocked his head to the side before placing a palm over his faceplate.

"Master...this is not the time for jokes."

Zenyatta let loose a quiet laugh, the sound rolling out of his speakers.

"Perhaps not, my student. I received a message from the Iris. A...vision, of sorts."

Genji nodded, concern evident in his voice. A normal person would have likely questioned Zenyatta's statement. Then again, most people weren't half robot, weren't former superheroes, and didn't have a connection to a centuries old spirit dragon. Genji was used to odd situations.

"What did this vision show you, master?"

"The past, the present, and a possible future. Come, my apprentice. If I am right about why the Iris showed me this, we are needed elsewhere, to prevent the future that I saw from ever happening."

"Yes master. Where are we going?"

"To England. King's Row, to be precise. Tell me, how much do you know about Lena Oxton?"

* * *

 **I discovered two things this chapter. One, Zenyatta is really easy for me to write, and two, Dumbledore is really,** _ **really**_ **hard for me to write.**

 **If my Dumbledore is uneven, blame that. I had a horrible case of writer's block when it came to his scenes and just kind of slogged through them for you guys.**

 **As for the Iris, what did you guys think of my interpretation? It has almost zero explanation in canon for what exactly the Iris is. However, the Shambali do have ties to Hindu, Buddhist, and Shaolin teachings, which the Force from Star Wars is also based off of. It wasn't too much of a leap to think that the Iris can send visions to those that are in tune with it.**

 **I'm going to take some time to update my other fics, then I'll get back to this one. Peace!**


	4. Chapter 4: Revelations

**Z.R. Stein**

 **One Day in King's Row — an Overwatch/Harry Potter crossover AU fic.**

 **I do not own the characters to either series in any way.**

 **Yeaaah...been awhile. Sorry about that, I've been transitioning from school to getting a job, things have been hectic lately. But now, hopefully, I can scrounge together enough time and inspiration to continue. Anyways...Merry Christmas! Have this chapter as a present!**

 **Also, yes, I heard the news about Tracer getting a girlfriend. While I'm happy for her, it turned out to be a minor nightmare trying to slot her into this story as already established, so she and Tracer will meet and start dating in later chapters (this is set a few years before Overwatch takes place, so it shouldn't be a problem, right?)**

 **Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Lena smiled down at the boy who was currently sleeping on her couch after watching a movie, a cup of steaming tea in her hands, the last rays of the sun coming through the window. It had been nearly a month since she had bumped into him on the street, setting off a chain of events that she hadn't anticipated in the slightest. The adoption papers were due to be sent in any day now, and with them, Lena Oxton would officially be a mother.

Privately, Lena wondered if she'd made the right choice. She'd always been a bit...impulsive (or as old man Morrison had put it, scatterbrained), and she may have jumped the gun on adopting a kid. Most people waited longer than a month before doing what she'd done. But...she just couldn't find it within herself to ship Harry off to someone else. Not when his emerald eyes lit up every time they were together, laughing and playing. Not when that light died when he was alone and didn't know she was watching, a faint tenseness stretching his young face. Lena knew that he'd been through a terrible experience, and that he needed a stable anchor; she just hadn't planned on being that anchor.

A ring from her communicator dragged Lena out of her thoughts, and she flipped it open as she walked out of the room; it wouldn't do to disturb Harry when he was sleeping so peacefully.

"Ello there, wot can I do for you?"

"Excuse me, is this Lena Oxton?"

Lena's brow furrowed. The accented and faintly synthesized voice coming from her communicator struck a chord within her memory. Why did it sound so familiar...abruptly, her eyes widened in shock and delight.

"Genji? Genji Shimada? Blimey, I haven't heard from you in a bloody century! It's soo good to hear from you, what can I do for you, luv? How've you been?"

The now identified man chuckled lightly at her rapid fire questions.

"It is good to speak with you again, Tracer. I see that you have not changed a bit. As for what you can do for me...ah, I was just calling to say hello, I was wondering if we could get together sometime for a nice cup of tea?"

Lena's eyes widened and she tightened her grip on the communicator. Overwatch agents on active duty had been taught numerous code phrases to use in the event that they ever needed to contact a fellow operative over a compromised network. If she remembered correctly, 'getting together for a cup of tea' meant that Genji had important information that he needed to share.

"Of course, luv, I'm always set to meet with old friends for a cuppa tea. Green, Black, White, or Oolong?"

"Ah...green tea has always been my favorite. I do hope you don't mind."

Green tea...so the information was important, but not urgent enough that it represented an immediate threat. Lena breathed a small sigh of relief.

"That sounds bloody lovely. When are you swinging by?"

"Tonight, if that is alright with you. I do understand if you won't be able to accommodate me though."

Lena chewed on her lip for a moment then responded "No, no, I can, don't think I 'ave anythin' to do tonight. Just swing by my flat and we can have a sit down together."

"I will see you then Lena. It was good to hear from you."

"You as well luv. Buh bye."

Lena hung up the communicator and frowned. While she would love to catch up with one of her old friends, the fact that Genji had called ahead to warn her was...worrying.

What could possibly be worrying the Shimada scion so much? She hadn't heard of any major new developments on the world stage. Omnic-Human relations were uneasy, yes, but with the aid of the Shambali, things were finally starting to calm down. People were becoming more accepting of the artificial lifeforms, and Omnic governments were even beginning to see success, with the city of Numbani held up as a shining example.

Lena clicked her tongue as she looked out of one of the windows of her flat. Maybe it had to do with the Shimada clan...though why Genji would come to _her_ for help dealing with his family, she didn't know. Lena ran a few more ideas through her head, before finally sighing and giving up. She wasn't going to figure it out anytime soon, and Genji would tell her soon anyways.

She hoped he would clear the issue up, at least. With Harry in her life now, Lena knew that she couldn't be as happy-go-lucky as she had been before; there was more than one life on the line.

. . .

Zenyatta and Genji ran silently across the rooftops of southern London, the two passing over roads faster than human eyes could follow. Teacher and student moved in tandem, both trusting that the other would catch them if they fell. When a road was too wide to jump across in one leap, they vaulted off of light posts and power lines, their mechanical limbs enabling them to make such maneuvers with blazing speed and accuracy. Most of the pedestrians below noticed nothing, and the few who did blinked, then dismissed the brief rush of air and shadow as a seagull or crow.

After more than ten minutes of travel, Zenyatta slowed to a halt on a roof overlooking the Thames, Genji skidding to a stop beside him. The two stood in silence for a few moments, taking time to survey their surroundings. Big Ben pierced the sky in the distance, a magnificent monolith pulsing with light that glittered across the black waters of the river. They were only a few blocks away from the neighborhood of King's Row, where Lena's flat was located. Genji scanned the horizon with his master, before turning to the younger member of their partnership.

"I do wonder what Mondatta would think if he knew you spent your nights skulking on rooftops, Master." Genji began, the light tone of his voice conveying his joking manner.

"My old friend would undoubtedly say that I should be wary of taking on such troublesome students in the future."

Genji snorted, the slightly synthesized sound escaping his facemask. Though he oftentimes projected the aura of a wise sage, Zenyatta was still a young Omnic at heart, and he could be playful when the mood took him. His sense of humor was both deep and enduring, displaying far more variety than most people expected an Omnic to be capable of . One of the areas that Zenyatta had mentored him in _was_ humor, actually; laughter was one of the best methods for dealing with loss and suffering, and Genji hadn't had many reasons to laugh after leaving Overwatch. Zenyatta had changed that, and for his aid, Genji would forever be grateful; though that is not to say that he wasn't above taking a few shots at his master when he could.

"Are you insinuating that I've corrupted you, Master? That is a bold accusation to make, indeed."

If Zenyatta could have raised an eyebrow, he would have.

"Hmph. Is it bold if it is the truth? The student teaches the master as much as the master teaches the student, _suzume_."

"Master," Genji whined "I thought I asked you not to call me that!"

"I know" responded Zenyatta, his voice inscrutable "But it is my prerogative as a master to embarrass my student when I feel like it. Plus, well...you are adorable when flustered."

With his piece said, Zenyatta flipped away, landing on a light post before leaping onto a passing barge, the boatsman at the helm blissfully unaware of his new cargo.

"I am _not_ —you don't...bah. I'll get you back for that master, just you wait...omnic _baka_." muttered Genji under his breath as he followed.

The rooftop they had left fell silent as the pair continued towards their destination, unnoticed by all save for one. A small drone hovered half a kilometer above them, observing their progress through a ebony lens, the mounted camera whirring as it tracked the two foreigners.

. . .

A knock at her door drew Lena away from the window she was looking out of. Blinking to the entryway, she felt a smile break out onto her face.

Opening the door, Lena leaned against the wall, a cheeky grin on her face.

"Well well well, Genji Shimada, long time no see."

The cyborg chuckled, stepping forwards to give the British native a hug. While Genji and Tracer had been assigned to different areas of Overwatch, they had still managed to run into one another from time to time, and Lena was always ready to make new friends. So, after their third meeting, a beautiful friendship was born. They had bonded over a mutual appreciation for tea, good food, and pranks (Gabriel and Jack had been their most frequent targets, though every agent ran afoul of the pranking duo at least once...except for Mercy. _No one_ messed with Mercy and got away with it).

Looking over Genji's shoulder, Lena beheld an Omnic standing to the side, nine spheres floating in the air around his neck. Her eyes widening, she pushed Genji away.

"Ah, where are my manners, and this is—"

"Tekhartha Zenyatta, founding member of the Shambali, wandering guru, monk of the Iris, ohmybloodygoshyouhavenoideahowexcitingthisis, hellowelcomenicetomeetyou!"

Zenyatta laughed gently, holding out his hands to calm down the hyperactive British woman.

"Peace, Lena Oxton. A river will reach the ocean, whatever speed it travels at; we will have plenty of time talk about whatever you want tonight. I take it by your reaction that you know of the teachings of my brothers and I."

Lena nodded enthusiastically.

"I do, I do. I've admired the work of Mondatta and yourself for a long time, ever since I heard about it. It just...means a lot for me to meet one of the members of the Shambali…" Lena scratched the back of her head and looked down "I know that Overwatch and Omnics have a bad history together, but people like you are helping to change that, bringing the world closer together, bringing _Omnics_ and _humans_ closer together. I joined Overwatch to help people...guess you could say I look up to you blokes...and...yeah..."

A metallic hand on her shoulder broke Lena out of her rambling. Looking back up, she found herself being embraced by the Omnic.

"I have heard much about you from my student, but to meet you...never lose sight of who you are, Lena Oxton. You have a truly beautiful soul. I have not seen its like in all my travels. It strengthens me to know that people like you are left in the world."

Lena blinked in shock, tears welling up in her eyes before she wiped them away.

"Tha...thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me, luv."

Zenyatta broke away, his face impassive as always, while Genji suppressed a sniff. Trust his master to calm Tracer down within seconds and say the one thing that would bring her such joy that she nearly started crying. It was a wonderful moment that he would remember forever.

"Is that a sniffle I hear, _suzume_?"

Aaaand of _course_ master had to ruin it.

"I must be catching a cold, master. And don't call me that."

"Ah, my poor student. Suffering under the burden of such a dastardly sickness. Nothing a good cup of tea can't fix."

Lena blinked twice.

"Wait, are we actually drinking tea?"

Genji turned to Lena, head tilted to the side, while Zenyatta mirrored him.

"...yes? That is why I called?"

"But I thought, the situation code…"

Genji and Zenyatta looked at each other, then back at Tracer.

"Oh, yes, that as well, we do have something important to discuss, but I am never one to pass up the opportunity for a steaming cup of tea."

"And while I cannot drink human beverages, the atmosphere created by drinking tea is undeniably relaxing. It could help you absorb our tale."

Lena's mouth formed an 'O'.

"Oh...ooooh. Right! I'll get on that then luvs, sorry bout that!"

Lena zipped away, and Genji shrugged at his companion.

"Well...she hasn't changed one bit."

"She is a lovely young woman indeed. In any event...come along my student. I wouldn't want you to suffer under the burden of your 'cold' any longer."

Genji groaned before following his master.

. . .

"Now, why are you two here? You mentioned you had something to tell me?"

Lena gazed at the two figures over the rim of her cup; Genji had removed his facemask and was quietly sipping at his green tea, while Zenyatta had set his own cup to hover in the air around him.

"Yes, we do. I understand that you've recently adopted a young child by the name of Harry Potter?"

Lena tensed slightly.

"How'd you know that?"

Zenyatta leaned forwards, his fingers steepled.

"I suppose there is nothing to do but to say it...some weeks ago, I was struck by a vision from the Iris. A vision of a possible future that could come to pass. Harry Potter is the lynchpin of that future; his fate is irrevocably intertwined with that of the world."

Lena felt her heart stutter.

"W-what? What does that...what does that even mean?"

Genji set down his cup, sighing.

"Honestly...we do not know. Master and I have discussed his vision back and forth during the weeks it took to travel here. Most of what he remembers is...what is the word...jumbled. All we can say for certain is that the future he saw is dependant on Harry being struck down at some point."

"Struck down?"  
"Killed." said Genji, his voice solemn.

Lena placed her cup down. No one spoke for several moments.

Zenyatta broke the silence, his tone gentle.

"Do you know of any reason why Harry Potter is so special? My vision showed me many things, but I am curious as to why this child holds such a heavy burden on his shoulders."

"...according to Winston and Angie, Harry is seen as some sort of...savior, for the wizarding world."

Zenyatta looked at Lena, a strange note entering his voice.

"The boy is a wizard?"

Lena nodded and said "When he wasn't but a wee babe he apparently defeated some dark tosser named Voldemort."

Genji hummed in thought.

"Voldemort...British wizard born in 2006...he rose to power only five years after the Omnic Crisis started. Ah, yes, I do remember something in the briefings mentioning a Harry Potter."

"Do ya happen to see this tosser in your vision, Zenny?"

Ignoring Lena's newly minted nickname, Zenyatta thought back to his vision.

"I remember a man with a face like snake and a cruel, blackened soul; he killed Harry's mother before trying to do the same to Harry. The spell he utilized did not work, though...it backfired, turning his form to ash...but it did not kill him. And then he...yes...yes, it is clear now, Voldemort will return, and he will be out for blood when he does. He will be the one who creates that future by killing young Harry."

A savage scowl formed on Lena's face.

"If he comes anywhere near my son―"

"Their confrontation may be inevitable, Lena."

Lena gaped at Zenyatta, a betrayed look in her eyes.

"What? Why? Why does it have to be on his shoulders? _He doesn't even know he's a wizard yet_!?"

Zenyatta responded "I know, and it pains me to even consider putting a child in danger. Genji and I will do everything in our power to ensure that Voldemort does not return in the first place. But we must consider the possibility that Harry will meet Voldemort in battle one day."

"But...but the Shambali...you always taught nonviolence."

Zenyatta sighed deeply.

"Even I know there are times when force must be used. Make no mistake, Lena; Voldemort is evil, unlike anything I have ever seen before. In every individual I have met, there has always been a glimmer of goodness within their soul. Some artifact of hope or love that I could appeal to, a memory of better times or an old bond. But when the Iris showed me Voldemort, I looked into his soul and I saw nothing but hunger and hatred. He is a hollow man, Lena. He does not know love, or joy, or happiness. All he desires in dominion and death. There is no place for a creature like him in this world."

The table once again lapsed into silence: Lena's face was drawn in a way that didn't look natural, while Genji's eyes were a storm of conflicting emotions.

"So...it is Harry's fate to fight with this Dark Lord, and their battle will decide if the world lives or dies."

"Perhaps." said Zenyatta "Nothing is certain about the future. Who knows? It might change simply by virtue of me telling this to you. But it is far better to be prepared than to not be when something terrible happens."

Lena's form shuddered as she drew in a deep breath.

"So...what do we do?"

Zenyatta plucked his tea out of the air and set it down on the top of the table.

"Everything we can. Genji and I will remain in England until this is resolved; the fate of the world is in the balance, after all. We can begin training Harry to defend himself. Any knowledge he needs, we should provide. I can teach him about philosophy and the Iris, as well as techniques to defend his mind. Genji can train him in martial arts and ninjutsu. You can bring to the table the knowledge you gained while working for Overwatch, as well as you years as a fighter pilot. Perhaps contact your old friend Winston as well, to tutor Harry on scientific matters. We provide him with all the tools he will need should he one day find himself on the battlefield. And, if that day comes, then we stand beside him. If that day comes, we will make sure that he wins, and that we all walk away safe."

Lena looked at Zenyatta, her lip trembling for a moment before she squared her jaw.

"Right...alright. I can get behind that."

. . .

"A cup of tea? I would love to, Lena, you know me. Green, black, white, or Oolong?"

"Green tea, Winston, luv. Think you can swing by in the next week or two?"

Winston hummed, his eyes flicking over to the banks of computer screens; one in particular shifted to show his itinerary, which was currently, as usual these days.

"I'll see what I can do, Lena. It'd be good to get out of this stuffy base, Athena has been nagging me for days to get some fresh air."

A third, synthesized voice interjected into the conversation "You do need to Winston. It has been six days, fourteen hours since you last left―"

Winston coughed loudly before continuing.

"Anyways...do you need me to bring anything with me Lena?"

"Mmm...up to you big guy. Wouldn't be a bad idea to bring your own mug though, most of mine are chipping."

So he should bring his weapons and armor. Might as well pack a few of his experiments as well then, who knew how long Lena would need him.

"Will do. It will be good to see you again, Lena."

"You too Winston. It's been far too long since I last saw ya, luv."

Winston said goodbye and hung up his communicator. So something had happened...something important enough that Lena didn't trust their communications network. If Winston was a gambling gorilla, he would have bet good money it had to do with Harry Potter.

As to why they couldn't use their network...well, Winston could understand where she was coming from. There had been some troubling rumors recently about Talon moving in the shadows again. They had gone underground for a time after Overwatch was dissolved, but it seemed that the rats had regained their courage, and were beginning to raid science labs, R&D facilities, and armories around the world. Digital staches were at even more risk; a few of Winston's contacts in world governments mentioned a hacker who came and went as if the most powerful firewalls in the world didn't exist. All that the hacker left in their wake was a symbol of a stylized purple skull superimposed on a black screen.

Snorting, Winston began lumbering around the lab. If Lena thought it was important to meet, then he'd be damn well sure to do so. She was a dear friend, one of the few he had left.

"Pack me a suitcase, Athena. I have a flight to catch."

. . .

Sombra leaned back in her chair, her arms stretched out. Her camera drone had followed the Shambali monk and the Shimada scion to Tracer's flat, the two of them disappearing inside. She didn't have a microphone on the drone, and hadn't wanted to rick it being seen, so she'd held back; an action that she was starting to regret now. It was a well known fact that Sombra could hack anything, but those former Overwatch _putas_ were being crafty; she couldn't spy on a room without something to hack into. Tracer and Genji hadn't spilled anything over the communication lines about _why_ they were meeting, but whatever it was, it was big. Big enough to pull the monkey away from his toys.

"Sombra, do you have the schematics we asked for...several minutes ago?"

Sighing, Sombra clicked away from the drone in Britain and opened up the one stationed in Korea.

"Of course, _abuelo_. Sending them to you now."

"Call me a grandfather again and I'll slit your throat in your sleep."

Sombra rolled her eyes. Honestly, Gabriel was such an edgelord sometimes. He probably cried himself to sleep while listening to death metal in his coffin bed.

"How's it looking on your end, Widowmaker?"

The response came back a few seconds later, Amélie's voice detached and cold.

"The guards are dealt with on my end. Moving towards the objective now."

Sombra watched the odd duo of Widowmaker and Reaper perform their mission. Despite her dislike of both of them (though to different levels and for different reasons), she acknowledged that both were very good as what they did. Soon enough, Talon would have all of the data on the new MEKA mechs.

Sombra popped a piece of gum into her mouth and started chewing. Talon, Overwatch, the Omnics, and now whatever was getting Tracer and her friends up in arms. How was it all connected? Who was the man behind the curtain? Sombra needed to know. She _needed_ to dig deeper into this.

. . .

Harry Potter yawned as he sat up, stretching out the cricks in his back. It took him a few moments to gain his bearings, and when he did, he smiled.

He didn't live with the Dursleys anymore. No, now he had a new mother, one who actually loved him. It still made him feel strange and fluttery inside, knowing that someone actually cared that he existed. He'd been worried, in the month that he'd been living with her, that he'd do something freakish to drive Lena off. But no...when the coffee pot had exploded one day after he stubbed his toe, Lena had laughed it off, telling him a story about the time an old friend of hers named Torbjörn had spent a week 'upgrading' all of the coffee machines in the Overwatch facility so that they only brewed coffee so black it could 'put chest hair on a dolphin' in Tracer's own words.

Harry was so relieved that Tracer didn't mind his freakish―no...he was not a freak, Lena had told him so―his _gifts_. It'd been one of the many things he had worried about incessantly.

Of course, he should have known better. Lena was too good a person for that; the sun would burn out before Lena Oxton would be a bad person, Harry thought.

"You up and about, luv?"

Hearing Lena's voice, Harry perked up.

"Yeah, I am. Good morning!"

Lena giggled, her hand snaking out to ruffle Harry's behead.

"Mornin' luv. We need to get you a haircut, startin' to look a wee bit shaggy there, aren'tcha?"

Harry laughed, and batted her hand away.

"Harry Potter."

Hearing his name said by a foreign voice, Harry turned, and almost immediately shrunk away. Framed in his doorway was an Omnic, a bunch of orbs floating around his neck.

He and Lena had talked about Omnics at length during their time together. She'd told him all about the Omnics and what they were really like; how they weren't all that different from humans, how they had thoughts and dreams and feelings too, and how they deserved to be treated just like anyone else. They weren't monsters or murderers like Vernon had claimed. And while he knew it in his head...part of Harry was still a scared little boy shivering in an alleyway.

"H-h-hello s-sir."

The Omnic crouched down to Harry's level, not advancing beyond the door frame.

"I know you are scared, young one. However, I promise you that I will do nothing to harm you. I am simply here to help you."

"Help me?"

Lena sat down on Harry's bed, one of her hands idly playing with his sheet.

"Harry...we have something important that we need to talk with you about. Luv...you're a wizard."

* * *

 **I am so, so sorry it took so long to get this out. This probably isn't up to my usual standard, but I'm trying to drag myself out of my writing rut. Hopefully you guys are satisfied.**

 **Couple things here. Number One, Zenyatta is indeed fifteen years younger than Genji. Caught me off guard too, he's so wise for such a young dude. Number Two, Lena is indeed going to have the wizarding talk with Harry in the next chapter, as well as tell him about the vision and his 'destiny'. She isn't the type to keep secrets from people. The only reason she didn't tell him before now was reluctance to spoil his good mood. Number Three, you can bet your ass Tracer and the rest are going to make sure Harry is prepped as all fuck to take down Voldemort. Unlike a certain grey haired fumbler, Overwatch agents do not make martyrs. Ever.** _ **Especially**_ **if the person in question is a child.**


End file.
